Shockwaves
by agentcalliope
Summary: Lincoln doesn't really know Fitz, nor Simmons. But what he does know, however, is that Simmons has been limping and clutching her stomach when she thinks no one's looking. So he takes a medical kit, a deep breath, and heads to her door. Thank you so much Agl03, thelatenightstoryteller and monicathereyes Trigger warning for descriptions of violence.


He stands at her door, unsure of himself.

He readjusts his grip on the medical first aid kit he brought, trying to remind himself of why he's here, especially at this late hour.

He thinks about it and honestly can't really recall ever speaking to Jemma Simmons, even though he has been living at the Shield faculty for a bit now. _There was literally a giant porcupine Inhuman, not to mention the whole damn U.S government, trying to kill me_ , he reasons with himself, _I didn't have time to meet every single SHIELD agent._

He knows that it's just an excuse, because Daisy tells him that this small but seemingly fierce woman is her best friend and as Daisy's special friend, he really should've formally met her a long time ago. In fact, he realizes with dismay, he doesn't exactly know Fitz either- only seen glances of the scientists in their lab, separated by glass doors.

What he does know is what Daisy's told him, about her best friends Fitz and Simmons, and how they used to be _Fitz-Simmons_ : psychically linked and inseparable. He knows about Ward, and Fitz's brain injury. He knows about the monolith and Simmons' disappearance and that Fitz did everything to rescue her, about the astronaut on Maveth-

And he knows that although its been only a couple of hours since she was rescued from Hydra and the whole portal occurrence, he just saw how Simmons leaned favorably on her right leg, her hand fleetingly pressed against her abdomen. It was something his medically trained eyes were unable to ignore. That's why he's here, hesitating; hand in a fist ready against the door.  
He shakes his head, angry with himself for faltering, throwing all caution to the wind and knocks.

He hears rustling and soft fast footsteps when the door swings open and he pretends he doesn't hear her exclaim "Fitz," nor see her stiffen when she sees he's not the Scottish scientist.

"Hi," he says, his cheeks reddening, "Sorry, is this a bad time?"

She forces a small smile but her voice cracks a bit when she replies. "No, no, its okay, Lincoln. I just thought you were F..." She falters on Fitz's name, and Lincoln can see the pain in her eyes. "…someone else. Can I help you?" She's still in the same clothes, and he wonders if she's gotten the chance to shower yet, or if she's waiting. He notices the bandage on her cheek more clearly, adding that to his list of her injuries. It's subtle, but again he sees her shift onto her right side, wincing ever so slightly.

He clears his throat, answering with a confident tone that he didn't think he would have. "I wanted to know if you got checked out?" He raises the medical kit slightly, offering her a slight smile as a sort of signal that he means her no harm.

"Thank you, but I'm fine. Really. I looked over myself before, and there's nothing serious. I need to shower now it's been a long-"

"Simmons," He interrupts, "I know you're a doctor, hell, a doctor with two doctorates, but we both know you don't have a medical license. I do. And don't tell me you're fine; you've been wincing since you opened the door and you look like you're having trouble putting weight on your left leg. Just… just let me take a look. Ok?"  
"Please?" He adds, hoping that that small word will help him not sound too forceful.

She blinks rapidly, just staring at him; her small, strained smile gone and he feels like her eyes are burrowing into his soul. He's about to list more reasons to defend himself when a tiny whisper emerges from her lips.

"Okay." She turns around and limps, hand at her side to her bed leaving him standing at the doorway. He closes the door behind him and comes into the room; it's neat and organized, and he can't help but think it's so unlike Daisy's. He heads over to where Simmons is now sitting on the bed, setting down the kit on the floor and kneeling to unlock it.

"I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable on treating my own injuries, thank you very much." He looks up and realizes that she didn't mean for the comment to be so loud, her face suddenly flooding with embarrassment. He decides to chuckle, to show her that she has done no harm in her remark as he stands up and puts the latex gloves on.

"I have no doubt about that, Dr. Simmons." He makes sure to refer her as Dr., and he notices her straightening her shoulders a bit as he does, "But it doesn't hurt to have a look, right?" He pauses, "So, Dr. Simmons; where should we start?" She takes a small deep breath, and he wonders if it's because she can't take a larger one without feeling the pain.

"Minor laceration on right cheek," she begins. "It's the only one that I've taken care of so far. With so much adrenaline in my system, I didn't really notice the others until recently. Maybe you can make sure it's okay before you check the others." She winces, as if to confirm her conclusion. He gestures toward her cheek; wordlessly asking for permission and when she nods he carefully takes off the dressing.

He's not surprised that he doesn't need to do anything else to the cut on her cheek; after all, this is Dr. Simmons. He gives her an approving nod before he moves to check her wrists. They are sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, his body twisted towards hers with the medical kit at the floor near her feet. He's in the midst of applying salve over her raw wrists, holding in his growing anger over the sight of the zip-tie burns when she breaks the comfortable silence that had enveloped them.

"Have you seen Fitz?" Her voice shakes with anxiousness, and he suddenly remembers that minutes after the pod had returned Mack had whisked Coulson and Fitz away for a meeting. It must've been really hard to let him out of her sight, and her out of his, he thinks as he scrambles to answer her question.

He pauses for only a second before he resumes his task, replying in a soft voice, "He's still in the debrief meeting with Coulson and Mack," He feels the need to reassure her, so he adds a small smile. "I'm sure they'll be done anytime now, don't worry." He sees that his words do nothing, and he doesn't know what else to do except to keep bandaging her wrists. "Alright. I've finished with your hands. What's next?"  
He turns away from her and bends down to gather more supplies when he hears rustling and Simmons stifling groans. He turns back to face her, and the first thing he notices is that she's not meeting his eyes and that she has lifted up her shirt to her bra line.

"What the hell," He curses, unable to restrain himself as he takes in the black and blue masses that engulf her lower stomach. "Simmons! What the hell did they do to you?" It's not just bruises. Burns are scattered across her torso and her arms, with a congregation of them on her left side, which would explain the limp. He's still processing her wounds when her voice interrupts his thoughts.

"At least I don't think anything's broken; just bruised, or perhaps fractured…" Her attempt to play down the seriousness of her injuries don't fool even herself and before he knows it her lower lip trembles and she wraps her arms around him, beginning to sob. In any other case, he might've been a little shy about being bear-hugged by a woman he barely knows, but he hugs her right back, careful not to press on any injuries.  
"I deserve this. I deserve every single burn and bruise because… because…" She's sobbing uncontrollably now, and he's having difficultly understanding her words. "Fitz went through the portal because of _me_ , and and I let Andrew out. He killed all those Inhumans and I helped him. I'm so sorry Lincoln I'm so so so sorry."

He's no therapist, but he suspects that this isn't the only thing haunting her. She strikes him as the type of person who doesn't easily express their feelings, and hold it in until the proverbial volcano erupts. It only took a small trigger, _me_ , he realizes, for her to confront the emotions she's locked up for so long. Her words start to flow into each other and it doesn't help that she's talking into his shoulder, muffling her voice, so he waits before he speaks.

"We don't really know each other that well, but I know that you did nothing to deserve any of this. You are not a bad person, Simmons. Everything that has happened, including Andrew, is not your fault. Nobody blames you but yourself." He breaks away from the hug, placing his hands on her shoulders and she's sniffling, her wet eyes meeting his. "I know that I can't make you believe that, and that it's gonna take you sometime to accept that, but know that there's nothing to apologize for- hell, if anything I should be the one apologizing."  
Her face contorts into puzzlement as he continues on, "I was against the portal opening, back in the chamber. I'm sorry, and I was wrong."

Her voice catches in her throat when she replies, "I forgive you, although you had your reasons." He smiles sadly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "You just forgave me so easily, so why is it so hard to forgive yourself?" Her face wavers with emotion before she nods slightly, raising her arms to rub her eyes. He watches as her gaze moves to his shoulder area and her expression turns to one of remorse. He's confused, and looks to see that his sleeve is sodden with tears.

"It seems that I got your shirt a bit wet, Lincoln." She says quietly, her words breathy and shaky.

He shrugs, "It'll dry," he mentions. "I really don't care".

And he means it.

He knows it's none of his business, but the words come out before he can stop them.

"I'm sorry about Will."

He feels her tense under his gloved hands as he's wrapping up her ribs. He glances up at her, waiting for her reaction.

"Will…" She pauses, closing her eyes and suddenly reaching up and touching a scar near her right eyebrow. He doesn't know why, but it strikes him as odd. She exhales and proceeds with her reply, "He was a good man. He saved me. He deserved to come back." She looks away, her face looking at the clock. He senses that she doesn't want to continue the conversation, and so he doesn't press her further. Deafening silence encases them as he ends bandaging her ribs, all the while she's still staring at the clock, and he wonders what she could be possibly thinking about.

He begins to check her over once more for any other lingering injuries, and doesn't encounter a single form of resistance from the scientist. He's relieved that he doesn't see any more wounds and clears his throat before he speaks.  
"I'm guessing I don't have to talk to you about taking care of the bandages?" He doesn't wait for her to reply as he grabs the bottles of ibuprofen from the kit. "Here, take these; they'll help with the pain. Remember, I was tortured by Hydra once too, and let me tell you it hurt so much and I needed a lot of-"

"My pain is nothing compared to yours."

 _And there goes another eruption._

She snaps at him, turning away from the clock and looking him dead in the eye.

"I wasn't tortured for an experiment; it wasn't to hurt _me_."

"I was tortured to hurt _him_."

He doesn't need to ask who he is, because he has a pretty good idea whom she's talking about.

"I knew from the moment Ward separated us we were going to be used against each other," she's shaking, her voice rising. "I thought I could bear it, that whatever they did to me would be worth it because they would be hurting me and not him." He is unable to tear his gaze from her face, and with her eyeing at him with such ferocity he doesn't really understand what he said to elicit this response, but he's sure as hell not going to ask.

"I thought I could protect him, that the least I could do was spare him some pain… and I couldn't even do that. I failed, and he was hurt, _again_ , because of me." She's crying now, but not in the same way she was before. Her anger and sadness and guilt seem to roll off of her in waves, and he just stays silent.

"And how many times have I hurt him?" she laughs morbidly as tears stream down her face, her sentences starting to roll into each other, "there's so much- I don't even know where to begin! But, oh, does _this_ take the cake! He spends months searching for me, risking his life and then I ask him to help me bring back Will and he gets tortured by listening to me get tortured and he goes to that godforsaken planet and then who knows what happened to him there! _I_ don't! AND HE'S STILL IN THAT BLOODY MEETING."

She covers her face with her hands, pausing for a few seconds before she raises her head to look at Lincoln, her face in utter despair and eyes rimmed red with tears.

"Maybe… maybe we are cursed."

He gets the feeling that although she's talking to him, she's not really talking to him; she says "we", and he knows that it doesn't involve him. He speaks softly.

"Who's cursed, Simmons?"

She doesn't seem to hear him, but by not answering he understands the answer all the same.

The door swivels open, and they both turn around to face the door. Fitz stands in the doorway, breathing heavily, like he had sprinted over to the room. He's covered in alien dirt, clothes disheveled and despite the nasty cut on his forehead Lincoln wouldn't be surprised if he has other injuries too. But all of that doesn't seem to faze Fitz, his eyes focusing solely on Simmons, and her gaze locks on him. Lincoln imagines that to them, he's invisible: that in this moment he doesn't exist, and that the room and its features have faded into the background. It's obvious that nothing else matters and that Fitz's only seeing her, and she's only seeing him.

Fitz opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out Simmons leaps from the bed and darts across the room and hurls herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, all indication of pain gone. Fitz stumbles back, her force catching him off guard. He closes his eyes and brings his arms up to embrace Simmons. They just stand there, silently holding one another as Lincoln, quiet as he can, scoops up the medical equipment and shoves it all in the kit. He makes sure to leave the ibuprofen bottles on the dresser besides the bed. He's wondering how he can possibly slip past them without breaking them up when Fitz's eyes suddenly open and center on him.

Lincoln freezes, a deer in headlights as Fitz tilts his head ever so slightly towards Simmons, mouthing to Lincoln.

"She's going to be okay?"

Lincoln exhales, unaware that he was holding his breath and nods, giving Fitz a small and sad smile.  
He mouths back, "She's going to be okay."

It's not a _lie_ , exactly.

She is going to be okay; her wounds will heal, and although there'll be scars, even those will eventually fade in time. But the emotional scars, the guilt; that's going to be a lot harder to recover from.  
And Lincoln is positive that Fitz understands what he means with his not-exactly lie, and the look Fitz is giving him is something he's never seen before.

Its somewhere between a look of a man who's seen too much, and a man who's seen too little. It's a look of hope and loss, of past and present, love and heartbreak. Lincoln hasn't had the greatest circumstances lately either, but he knows its nothing compared to what they've been through.

It's a bit before Fitz mouths back a "Thank you", proceeding to shuffle towards the bed, arms still around Simmons as she also moves with him without breaking their embrace. Lincoln twists around them and he heads out the door; hand grasping the doorknob to close the door behind him. He turns around to look at the pair; Fitz's back towards him as this time Simmon's eyes open and meet his.

"Thank you", she mouths, as she slants her head closer to Fitz's, molding even more perfectly into him. Lincoln nods once again and softly pulls the door shut.

He stands at her door, but this time, he isn't unsure of himself.

He switches the medical kit to his other hand as he begins to head down the dark hallway, remembering how late it is.

He's thinks about it, and he realizes he's sure that although he still doesn't really know Fitz and Simmons, he's pretty certain Daisy was wrong. She said that they _used_ to be Fitz-Simmons; but it's clear as day that that bond between them isn't past tense. The pod, Ward, brain damage, monolith, Will; they just forced them to adapt, and there's sure to be more things in the future to challenge them again. But there's no doubt that they'll rise above it all, stronger than before.

So yeah, Lincoln's sure.

He's sure that they _weren't_ Fitz-Simmons: they _are_ Fitz-Simmons.

They're psychically linked: inseparable.

They're best friends-

No.

Wait.

They're more than that.


End file.
